


Mayor

by jeffcatson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: F/F, also there's sex in it along the same lines, and sad and philosophical, basically I wanted to talk about how life is for people who don't have the town's favour, more bleak and hopeless, this one's the opposite of fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffcatson/pseuds/jeffcatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pamela is on her way out. Leann understands, a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mayor

 

 

Pamela sees her after she's left her fourth press conference of the day. 

 

The numbers of assembled townsfolk and reporters had been dropping off, and there hadn't even been an NVCR intern to be seen at the last one. Pamela doesn't know whether this is because it's getting late, and people are more interested in their homes and beds, or because they're only expecting the same message that she's delivered, with hands clutching the podium tightly, every day this week. Her last few days in office are hanging over her like a dark planet lit by no sun, looming closer until it's all she can see: she's not quite sure what do with her remaining time, and press conferences are at least familiar. She gives it up for the day, and drives towards home. 

 

She has no power, now - well, she never did have any power, but the City Council at least gave the impression of monitoring her speeches and appearances carefully, even calling her in for re-education on town policy once or twice. Now, they don't even seem to care what she says in her conferences, and so she's been reckless, recently, calling several each day and yet not quite having the heart to impart anything but her own, personal messages.

 

She has thought about warning the new candidates, but doubts it would make any difference to them. They'll be wedged in to the machinations of the town and the will of the Council soon enough, and knowing won't make things any easier. 

 

She passes the Midnite All-Nite Diner, and Leann Hart is there, sitting in a booth against the window, black coffee and an open notebook at her elbow, cigarette in hand. When Pamela slides in opposite her, she says nothing for the longest time: just gazes out at the void hovering over the car park, letting her cigarette burn down. Finally, "I suppose you'll be wanting to do an interview?"

 

"No", Pamela says, warming her hands on the coffee the waitress with no eyes had brought out to her, "there'd be no point. Is it even publishing, now?" Leann turns and there's a glare in her raised eyebrow, but no force behind it, and, "no", she says shortly, taps her cigarette into the ashtray, sucks in another drag - "in any case, the new candidates didn't even come to me, and my last assistant just filed an internship application with NVCR. Turns out that people really are more interested in 2% milk than in news." 

 

Pamela had expected it: anything essential, the townsfolk could get from Cecil's show, and they'd always seemed remarkably uninterested in knowing anything on top of what was necessary to survive the day. As if on cue, the strains of the weather start to ring out across the diner - moderate heat tomorrow, drier towards the afternoon, and the guitar chords are sudden and grating against her headache. She looks down at her coffee. 

 

"I'm not really sure what I'll do next", Leann says, with all the airy disappointment of someone with the fortune to know there will be another option after this. It'll be unfamiliar, and probably terrifying, but it'll be something. "I remember, when I first started out, I wanted to go into investigative journalism", she says, spinning her lighter between two fingers. "I wanted to work out just what was going on, this whole town - this ridiculous place - I even thought I could deal with regular re-education sessions for it, I mean, it's not like boring videos would cause much long-term damage, right?" She's reckless - they're listening now, and there are so many worse things, Pamela thinks - "but, this place, you know, I wouldn't even know where to start. After living here so long, I don't think I even know what's ordinary anymore, and in any case, I doubt people would be interested. I thought about going to talk to those new scientists, you know - telling them that it's too much and there's no point, that even if they were able to work out something it would all change the week after as the laws of physics reversed again. But, well. They seem so optimistic - still working away at the same things they were months ago. I haven't quite the heart." 

 

Leann drives them both back to her place, the radio off and the windows down, still desert air blowing chilly and dry over them both. They don't speak, not now, nor when they get into the apartment, and Pamela's grown clumsy and stiff during her time in office, her body sitting more crookedly on her than in had over a decade ago, when they'd last tried dating. Her knee is sore, and it's difficult to hold a position that's any good for getting her hands into and over Leann properly. Her back and her knee both get really painful just as Leann starts to push up against her hands and moan into the pillows, and Pamela shifts slightly, ignores the pain and finishes her off as fast as she's able. She collapses onto her back and stretches out her leg, and Leann pants deep breaths in beside her and doesn't move in to be held. 

 

The beside lamp is cold and blue, but the alternative would be fumbling in the darkness, and cars pass on the road, throwing bright beams of light across the ceiling. Leann had never quite gotten the hang of fucking her as she needed, and this evening her nails are a little too long, the ends sharp - the latex smooths out the fingers inside her, but nails catch on her clit several times before Pamela moves that hand up to a nipple and takes care of her clit herself, flicking the bedside lamp off on the way. Leann adds another finger, and it's a little too much, she's dry and it's too fast and Pamela's uncomfortable but not enough to correct her, and if she can - just - yes, there - and it hurts but she's coming already, she spasms on the bed once, twice, then is still. 

 

Leann's quiet - she's unsure, Pamela thinks, as she peels the glove inside-out then gives her thigh one or two tentative, experimental strokes. A part of Pamela wants to pat her hand in reassurance - it's fine, she needs nothing - but she doesn't move, doesn't even look at her, and before long Leann's turned to face away from her, rolled up in blankets and snoring softly. 

 

Pamela won't sleep tonight - the bed's unfamiliar, and she hasn't slept with company in years. She moves the lamp to the floor on her side and flicks it on, then fiddles with one of Leann's cigarettes and sits up in bed to listen to the passing cars. They're fewer and further between, now, but each one passing still rattles a loose pane in the window and lights up the ceiling in bright white. The floor is strewn with laundry and forgotten sheets of typed stories and notes - old ones in smudged typewriter ink are yellowed, and newer word-processed sheets hold shorter, more concise articles. The latest ones will be on her phone, she knows. None will be published, but Leann will find something else. 

 

Pamela knows that she is going to die, and soon. The City Council don't like to leave loose ends. She has only days left, now. She has always believed that perfection is not real, and so she doesn't expect great things from her last days, or to suddenly feel as though she could fit in all the happiness and fulfilment that she'd never really chased even back when her days had felt infinite. Here, in a room that smells of old socks and paper, with Leann, who she had never liked much even back them but who is, now, losing all she's known as well - here, the unsatisfactory is ordinary, and it fits well with the rest of her life. It is enough. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like something fluffier, all my other fic so far has much fluff: this was me trying something new. Come say hello on [my Dreamwidth](http://alreadystardust.dreamwidth.org/), if you'd like. All days are good for us.


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